


sandchoked

by daemon



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Enemy Lovers, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, M/M, Minor Injuries, Painplay, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 22:41:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15650379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daemon/pseuds/daemon
Summary: The sly smirk, the sunkissed skin and silver-blonde hair, and those eyes, gray-blues beholding mischief and secrets that grated on Vayne's nerves such that he wanted to dig into those depths to learn every one of them.(In other words, Vayne was in Deep Shit where Vaan was concerned.)





	sandchoked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [czar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/czar/gifts).



Vayne loved Dalmasca, he loved Rabanastre, and despite the means used to claim her, he hoped some day the people might learn to love him as well as their caretaker.

But Dalmascans were an odd lot, the city residents more vocal of their dislike for the Archadian occupation, and yet during his undercover ventures through Rabanastre to get a feel for the capital, he'd found them more and more interesting and worthy of his time than those who pandered to him back in Archadia. It was during one of these silly excursions that he'd met the blonde thief, who not only made away with his coin purse, but his attention as well. 

The sly smirk, the sunkissed skin and silver-blonde hair, and those eyes, gray-blues beholding mischief and secrets that grated on Vayne's nerves such that he wanted to dig into those depths to learn every one of them. Clearly he was in for trouble when he kept spotting that platinum head of hair in the days and weeks after, and it was unsurprising when he'd find his coin missing and hear telltale laughter in the crowd as he spotted that tanned back disappearing into the crowds. 

It was surprising however, when he'd caught the brat one day in the bowels of Lowtown. When he demanded the return of his purse, the thief asked for payment—a kiss. A request so simple and shocking to the Prince, Vayne almost walked away in a stupor.

And that is when Vayne realized he was in trouble the moment he decided to indulge. This was foolish and ridiculous and pathetic of him, to fall for the tricks of a mere thief.

Clearly, he was the fool here, and it made him furious.

Vayne had slipped his council and his Judges once again, venturing into the Estersands and taking out the worst of his anger out on the beasts that wandered the burning expanse. It had been foolish to wander alone, of course—especially when he'd happened on a wild Saurian and the gods-damned creature had tried to take a bite out of him. It had been a difficult beast to fell on his own, but one precise strike through the throat and the beast died with a gurgled roar. 

Now his problem was that he was bleeding heavily from a wounded leg and he was too far from the outpost to go that way, but by the vegetation and the beasts, he figured he must be close to the river. He'd wandered far enough to know he'd left familiar territory hours ago when he met with the Saurian, and now with a makeshift patch job because he'd used too much of his magic to heal himself, he trudged onward. By the time he found the riverside village, he was near to passing out and found himself oddly thankful that no one here seemed to know his face let alone care for his name, only that he was wounded and needed immediate aide. 

He woke, hours later, to find a familiar face hovering over him and what looked like _worry_ writ into his thief's features. 

"What are _you_ doing here?" Vayne rasped, rubbing a hand down his own tired face, and eyeing Vaan a bit suspiciously.

Vaan snorted and sat back on the floor beside the makeshift bed, "Great to see you too, _my Lord_."

Vayne hated the way his title sounded on Vaan's tongue, hated how twisted and _wrong_ it sounded, "I told you—"

Vaan waved him off, "Yeah, yeah. 'Don't call you that', but at least I know you're coherent."

Vaan's chuckles faded out and instead a tiny smile pulled at his lips and Vayne simply watched him. A lantern hung from the ceiling of the tent, swaying to and fro, casting interesting shadows across the blonde's features. 

Outside, the banks of the Nebra were quiet, the waters lapping gently on the darkened shore beyond the tent. It would have been soothing, had he not been so focused on the sensations against his scalp.

Vaan had snuck slender fingers into his hair, combing through it with a rare gentleness that Vayne wasn't used to or comfortable with. He grabbed for the other's wrist and yanked until Vaan tumbled over him and he could drag the brat in for a kiss. It wasn't unkind, but the ferocity behind it was most welcome. 

This wasn't another foolish endeavor as he'd thought before, but the thrill of it had instead fueled the heat in his veins and the lust coiling in his belly as he stripped away Vaan's ridiculous outfit and ignored the pain in his leg as he pulled the younger man close. While one of those slender hands roamed his own torso and that mouth attacked his with petulant fervor, Vayne felt another slipping beneath the covers, alerting him to the fact his clothes and armor were gone and that hand was now wrapping around his length.

Vaan laughed into his mouth, breaking the kiss to sink teeth into his throat, earning a low, surprised groan from the prince before lavishing kisses down Vayne's chest and stomach. The blanket disappeared and when he propped himself up on his elbows, he was met with the sight of Vaan's tongue circling his navel and the dual sensation of feeling and seeing teeth nibbling on his hip. 

"There are days..." Vayne growled, "I wish I'd never met you..."

Vaan's answer was more laughter, hot breath washing over the heated skin of his abdomen, "You're a great liar anywhere but here."

His head fell back with another hiss of pain as Vaan's nails dug into his injured thigh. The wrappings were tight and secure, but Vaan's grip was sure, taunting him with a streak of pain to mesh with the pleasure of that tongue licking hot and wet against his cock. When he looked down again, Vaan's eyes danced as he watched the Lord Consul unravel beneath him, as those plush lips wrapped around the tip and sucked, partnered with that tongue tracing the slit. 

Vaan was ruthless, drawing out both the pain and the ecstasy, frustrating Vayne to no end until the Prince dug a cruel hand in his hair and _pulled_. The moan that sounded from Vaan's throat, the sensations that seemed to echo through his cock, it nearly ruined him before he could drag the brat up to kiss him again. 

"For an invalid— you're very eager—" Vaan laughed, breathless and wild, and far too smug for Vayne's liking.

"If I wasn't fond of that tongue of yours—" Vayne hissed, biting on those wet lips to watch them redden even more, "I'd cut it _out_."

Vaan's expression was too knowing, too smug still, and as he straddled Vayne's hips and kissed him again while reaching for a vile from a nearby side table. Nimble hands popped it open and a cool fluid was spilled onto his stomach, a scentless oil that Vaan swirled his fingers through and then slicked his length with. Vayne tried to hold onto every thread of his sanity he had left, but Vaan wasn't having it, he barely prepared himself before he was lifting himself to sink down onto the length he'd teased full and aching.

Vayne had witnessed this sight again and again, many times before; all before the younger man had taken his control and pushed him down on whatever flat surface they could find. It was a vision that sapped the last vestiges of his dignity, his restraint, and his calm demeanor. This childish, unruly, and mouthy little thief had stolen any and all manner of decorum from him the moment they'd fallen into bed together.

He hated even more that he liked it and didn't want it to stop.

Vayne reached for him, but Vaan caught his hands, and forced them above his head, "No, those stay there. You're injured, remember?"

Vayne barked a laugh, "As if you care—"

He was cut off with another biting kiss and a smirk, "I don't, but I don't like sleeping with blood in my sheets, do you?"

Vayne couldn't argue that, and he knew better than to try. Not that he had much time to think on it when Vaan shifted and rolled his hips, muscles tensing and squeezing around Vayne, and _gods_ , how this man would be the ruin of him if he allowed it.

"What—are you—" Vayne nearly choked on a low, stuttering moan, "—doing, you little ingrate—"

Vaan is breathless now, cheeks flushing darker as he moves, "What does it look like?" 

It looked like _damnation_ , if Vayne is being honest. 

He could feel Vaan's softened laughter, unable to tear his eyes from the sight of Vaan's skin glowing in the lantern-light, tanned flesh turned pink and damp with a sheen of sweat that made it shimmer. Such thoughts made Vayne positive the pain-numbing herbs he'd been given were messing with his perceptions; he was lost to the pleasure of Vaan riding him, of watching him stroke himself as he lifted and dropped on the rigid cock inside him until he brought them both to a crushing release. 

Vayne is _gone_ on this rebellious boy, and to see him so radiant in his climax (head tossed back, eyes squeezing shut, lips parted in a near-soundless cry) is a rare treasure all its own.

(Vayne thinks: let the gods curse his reign, let the bureaucrats vie for his power, and let the Senate burn where they sit. If this is damnation—to be kissed with fire, to be fucked like there is no tomorrow, to be hated and loved in equal measure—he'll accept it with as much grace as is possible when his heart is screaming in his chest and his blood is hot in his veins, those stormy eyes are heavy with the want of his destruction.)

Vaan doesn't collapse on him, but it's a near thing. He's almost careful as he rolls off to Vayne's other side and avoids his injured leg, and curls into a content ball against the Prince's side. His arm drops lazily, possessively even, around Vayne's waist as he yawns against his shoulder. He's too high on the euphoric sensations overwhelming the pain of his leg for him to care about the closeness, the strangeness of it, and simply takes it for what it is (which, thinking of it, he's not sure what it means nor cares to decipher it).

"I'll clean up in a bit, give me a minute." Vaan mumbles against his neck where he's tucked his face and pressed slow, absentminded kisses, "Bandages, too," He continues, reaching down to pat his hip, "just need a nap."

Vayne says nothing, doesn't need to; his hand sneaking into platinum locks seems to be enough. Love is a dangerous thing, so he tells himself this is nothing but convenience, and how convenient it is to want someone who does not fear him.

-


End file.
